


An Addicting Attraction

by dreamergirl090



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock BBC
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Post- Reichenbach, Sherlocked, Texting, Traveling the world, primarily Sherlock and Irene just being fun with their phones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-11
Updated: 2012-07-11
Packaged: 2017-11-09 15:06:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/456847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamergirl090/pseuds/dreamergirl090
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Irene Adler is positively frustrated her hair is dyed blonde. She is also positively bothered that there are no interesting people anywhere in the world. Only boring people.  She has the consultant detective to thank for both of these problems - now if only he answered her texts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Addicting Attraction

She dunks her croissant in her tea. The crumbs are flaking off. It does not matter. The tea is lukewarm. Her mobile buzzes across the table. She glances at the number and sighs. It is no one – a wrong number. Only one number matters when it comes to this phone.

"Mademoiselle, would you like anything else?"

"No. Everything is fine."

Irene Adler smiles gently. Her blue eyes twinkle and the waiter smiles back, color rising in his cheeks.

"I'll bring you another cup over. Fresh. On the house."

"How kind…" He walks away and she smiles. The smile doesn't truly reach her eyes.

Where she sits, she can see out to the Eiffel Towel. It's tall and beautiful with the lights all a-twinkling. She twists her dyed blonde hair. It's not her favorite color.

She did it in a mad rush when Sherlock left her in Karachi. She had to leave the country undetected and usually a new hair color would help with that. She is dying for her brunette hair to come back.

She watches out into the crowds as she waits for her tea. A girl giggles as a boyfriend tries to catch her. They are probably heading to the Eiffel Tower. The City of Love - she sighs. How clichéd.

What is more clichéd is when she reaches for her new phone and texts the first contact. It never switches. It's always the same contact, at the top of her very short list.

This phone is brand new. It contains a brand new phone number that he and she share. A new phone line just for them.

_I'm bored. Come and find me._

She places the phone back on the table as the waiter arrives with her second cup. She smiles and thanks him. She glances at her phone and then looks back into the crowd. She waits a half-hour, sipping her tea, but there's no response. She sighs, pays her bill and moves on.

x-x-x

Inside the café where she had just left, a man is sitting at a corner table, nursing a cappuccino. His hair is a curly brown with a scarf wrapped around his neck. Black rimmed glasses sit on the bridge of his nose as he reads the paper. He occasionally glances at his phone, still buzzing in his coat pocket. It's screaming, you have one new text message!

He turns a page of the paper and proceeds to ignore it. Eventually, he sticks his hand in the pocket and glances at the words.

_I'm bored. Come and find me._

The man watches the other people in the café. A couple is holding hands at the table. A businesswoman is holding her phone in one hand and her e-reader in the other. The waiter is bored. He looks outside to a now empty table.

She has to adjust. She's safe. Now, he's ready to return back to his home.

_I can't. I have to go back. Nice hair color. –SH_

__He looks at the words on the screen, shakes his head and deletes the letters. He signals the waiter over and pays for his drink. He needs to get back to 221 B Baker Street. He did just tell John he was just stepping out for some milk and that he would be right back. Sherlock will just tell John that there were some very long queues at Tesco’s.

x-x-x

Two days later, she is in Rome. She still has the awful blonde hair, but now her blue eyes are clouded over with brown lenses.

The food is delicious here as well as the romance. Oh Irene, she tells herself, you need to stop picking such romantic places.

She people watches, always a favorite pastime of hers. A woman smiles at her, Irene smiles back. Is she interested? Irene wonders hungrily. She's been so bored, so lonely.

The woman's boyfriend interlaces his fingers into hers. The woman giggles as they both skip off to somewhere. Irene decides no, the woman is not interested. Irene's fingers immediately go for the phone in her pocketbook. She finds the contact and because she feels incredibly deprived of attention, texts him their ever-lingering joke.

_Dinner?_

There is no response. Irene continues to watch the people and wishes angrily to be back in her home of double-decker buses and fabulous teas. She hates Moriarty more than ever, hating herself even a little bit that she worked with that man.

She hates her need to play games. She wants to go home.

x-x-x

Sherlock's phone buzzes. John Watson eyes the phone as it moves across the table. Sherlock glances up from his microscope.

"Did you want me to get that?"

"It's my brother. No. Something stupid."

John shrugs and heads off into the kitchen. When he is out of the way, Sherlock gets up and glances at the message.

_Dinner?_

Sherlock doesn't laugh or smile. He finds it sad. Is she really that desperate for entertainment? He deletes the message and places the phone back on the table.

Adjustments take time.

x-x-x

A week later Irene goes further, past the cities of love. She's looking for attention, something to stimulate her bored mind. After playing with Sherlock Holmes's mind, it's very hard to find someone else that matches it. She wishes he would just answer the phone once just to indulge her.

She goes to a different continent, entirely. She is wearing her hair in a bob, a wig obviously. She can't bear to cut her hair short. The blonde dye is finally coming out, returning to its lovely dark shade that is full of mystery and awe. It is the shade of the Woman.

In the city of technology, cherry blossoms and flurry of activity, she thought about being a geisha, full of elegance and grace, but she did that many a year ago and she can't really replace _that_ experience.

She dresses like a Lolita Girl, all cute and charming, blending into the scenery best as a foreigner can. She still wears brown contacts, as her blue eyes would attract too much attention. As she stares at all the faces blurring together, she knows she won't stay long. She is always distracted with the weight of her past life sitting in the bottom of her bag. She pulls out the last remaining link and texts the number she has memorized by now. The contact list is no longer any use to her now.

_Do I have to say please?_

There is no answer.

Irene gets a little drunk off sake that night. She giggles like a schoolgirl. When a young man tries to get her away, she realizes that she is too close in letting her real name slip. She tells him she'll be right back. Instead, she runs back to her apartment. She pulls off her wig and rips it apart.

x-x-x

He never gets this message. Well he gets it; the thing is he just doesn't open it. He deletes it right away. As soon as his phone pings, he deletes it while in the cab with John.

He stares out into the passing world of London.

She needs to learn, he tells himself. I need to learn, he tells himself. An addiction of the heart is worth breaking.

Attraction just distracts the mind.

They both need to concentrate on their new lives.

x-x-x

Two months later, she's waiting in a first class lounge. Her hair has finally returned to its brunette coloring. She's waiting for her flight to the States. It's somewhere new to try. It's somewhere she might not get bored, she tells herself. It won't be like France. It won't be like Rome. It won't be like Tokyo. _You'll be okay._

She glances around at the businessmen texting on their Blackberries, none of them striking her fancy as few people rarely do these days. She gets out her phone. He's never answered once, but that doesn't stop her. She still texts the now memorized number.

_I hate you._

She hits send and smiles. She hopes he laughs about it later saying how difficult she is. She hopes he is at a crime scene with John Watson. Someone taps her and she is taken out of her daydream. A man has come up to her, to let her know, her flight is boarding. As she gets up, she sees a couple of the men watch her sashay across the room in her Louboutins and the white Alexander McQueen dress she is so fond of. She nods to them.

It easies her for a second, but the loneliness still never completely leaves her.

x-x-x

Sherlock Holmes is not a crime scene with John Watson. He is sitting in the lounge. Incidentally, it is a coincidence. While her hair has returned to its dark brunette coloring, he has gone platinum blonde. He is wearing a suit, trying to blend in with the other businessmen. After the fall, he thought of going to South America or somewhere, he wasn't sure where yet. He had to blend in and at the same time, try and track down Sebastian Moran's past.

He never meant to glimpse the familiar figure, walking in that reused outfit with that dark hair, walking out the door, but he did.

He pulls his phone out of his coat and texts her, not because he misses her, but because she messed up.

_Don't reuse outfits, no matter how much you like it. Dye your hair again. Try to think, Ms. Adler. I didn't save you so you could get caught again. -SH_

x-x-x

Before she turns off her electronic devices on the plane, she gets a text. She picks up her phone hungrily as the flight attendant stops to tell her to put it away.

"Just a quick look." She smiles. The flight attendant returns the smile with a stern look.

There is a message from him. She immediately opens it. With each word, her smile starts to fall quickly off her face.

"Everything all right, M'am?" The flight attendant asks noting the change.

Irene nods as she shuts off the phone.

"Oh yes. Fine." She stows the phone away and the flight attendant moves on to the next passenger not following the rules.

x-x-x

She looks in the mirror. She is currently at the Plaza Hotel. The clock had just chimed midnight and she knows there is a whole New York City nightlife waiting, but all she cares about are the scissors in her hand.

With the scissors, she begins to cut. Each piece of hair, she laughs, relishing it. He wants her to changer her hair? Fine, she thinks as she laughs and snips another piece.

Soon her laughter turns into angry racked sobs. Her hair is lying in the sink, her arms wrapped around her body, which is curled on the floor. Once in a while she grasps her short hair, disbelieving what she just did. She had waited so long for the hair to come back and she just cut it all off in a matter of minutes.

She can't believe she missed bickering and bantering with Sherlock Holmes. She wants to text, where is he going, but she doesn't. She knows he won't respond.

Instead, Irene decides she is going to go home. He eventually has to go back there. He can yell at her some more, back home.

In the morning, she realizes she probably should've seen a stylist. However, it makes her look more authentic. This ragged hair shows so much anger and exhaustion she feels. Even the desperate addiction she tried to travel away from, but never could.

She keeps the brown contacts in. She applies heavy black eyeliner. She pulls on a pair of J.Brand jeans and white tank she keeps handy in her purse when her other clothes tire her or no longer serve as a good identity. She needs to go shopping.

Leaving her hotel, she knows she is getting looks. She's glad. It's what this identity needs, a good back-story with some edge.

She buys loud teal skinny ripped jeans. She buys these garish biker boots. She buys red hair dye. She wants to be unrecognizable. She wants him to find her among the people. It's a game she is dying to play.

x-x-x

Bright and early she is on the first flight back, first class. She is so out of place and she loves it. She wants people to look at for the wrong reason. I'm not Irene Adler she smiles as a man checks her passport. I'm just going back home.

For the first time in a year, she's in London. The smells are better. The tea is better. The accents are better. She stalks around adding to her disguises along with her atrocious American accent. She hails a cab, knowing exactly where she wants to go.

"Baker Street," she says between her gum smacks. She can see the cabbie shaking his head. Her disguise is working. The gum-smacking is annoying to every one.

The cabbie drops her off the on the corner. She slouches and leans on the wall, pretends to text like a teenager, furiously fast, but keeping her eyes on the street. She watches and waits. She won't get close enough be caught, not yet.

The door opens and she frowns immediately. It is only John Watson. John Watson who is skinnier than in the past. Something is wrong. It's been three days and Sherlock isn't back yet.

She wants to tail John Watson, but her disguise this time might not help. John would notice someone like her following him. Sherlock would have taught his friend well.

She waits the whole day, only stopping off for a quick bite. She never sees Sherlock come in or out of the building. She does see John Watson return. _Boring_.

At the end of the day, she high tails it back to her hotel. Patience is not her strong point.

She takes off the boots, the jeans and flops onto her bed, wearing one of those gorgeous fluffy bathrobes that she will definitely be taking with her.

She can't check him up on the internet- yet. It's a last resort because she wanted to try to avoid the watchful eyes of the elder Holmes brothers. She wanted the younger brother after all.

She rings the only other numbers she has on her phone. An emergency contact.

She runs her hands through her new short hair as she hears the familiar tone.

"Kate?"

"Hello?"

"It's me." She breathes back into the phone and she hears the phone clatter and is quickly picked up.

"You're not -"

"Don't say anything. I don't know if you are being watched still now even after a year. I need to ask you a question."

She doesn't hear a yes, but instead a laugh.

"Kate?"

"You're calling about him. I can't believe it. You are fucking calling me about him. God, he's dead. Jumped off a building. Three months after you died."

Kate laughs again. "At least I have more backbone. I moved - "

Irene hangs up the phone before Kate can finish. She goes to the second number and texts him, confused.

_We're both dead? I think you forgot to tell me something._

Waiting for a non-existent answer makes Irene give in. She goes onto the Internet and begins to read about the day of the fall.

x-x-x

Sherlock is tracking one of Moriarty's men in Brazil when he gets the text. He's a bit perplexed. He didn't think you could get reception where he currently is so of course his phone makes the "Ding!" sound.

He always forgets to shut off the ringer. The man he is tailing turns around and aims a gun at his head.

Shit, Sherlock thinks.

x-x-x

Twenty minutes later. He is nursing a black eye, but is comfortable back in the motel. He gets his phone out and texts her.

_Please find someone else to bother. You almost got me killed - again. -SH_

x-x-x

Irene is fast asleep when her phone dings. It startles her, but she still lunges for it in her sleepy state. She reads the text, laughs and texts, teasing back.

_I thought you were already dead._

She is leaning on her arm, now fully awake.

_You horrible woman. Can't you adjust to the world without me? -SH_

_When will you come back?_

_Not for a while. -SH_

_I changed my hair. It's short._ She then thinks and decides to add. _I saw John._

_Did you talk to him? –SH_

_No. Would you like me to?_

_No. -SH_

_Can we at least have a "We're both dead" dinner? London is boring._

Sherlock doesn't respond for a while. Irene is afraid she has turned him away. She begins to play a game on her phone now that she is wide-awake. A text message sound interrupts her game. She glances at it the one word.

_BA460. –SH_

She immediately looks up the numbers on her phone and laughs. She had always wanted to go to Greece.

**Author's Note:**

> Can you tell that I love two brainy stubborn people together? 
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks -J


End file.
